ged to
jerk him back before he went right over; but he cut his foot badly, as
it was, poor chap. I had always loved to tinker away at cuts and
bruises, so I managed to patch him up a bit, and stop the bleeding,
till the doctor came. It was nothing, any one could have done it, but
poor old Martin made a great fuss over it; and he literally dragged me
out of the mill and shoved me back to school. Paid every cent of my
expenses until I was through my first year at college. After that I
got on my own feet. I taught school for a while, and paid my way; but
I'll never forget that Martin Heaslip was the man that gave me my
chance. I just fancy I see him now, sailing down the river on the
slipperiest log in the bunch, and roaring out his song about a
'wat-er-y grave' as gay as a lark."

The doctor paused, in happy reminiscence. There was a tense silence.
At last his companion spoke.

"Where is he now?" Her voice trembled; she had turned away, and was
looking far off over the clean brown fields.

"He was a wandering sort of chap. He went back to Nova Scotia; then
West, somewhere, and the last move was to the Klondyke. He's been
there for several years now, I fancy; hoping to make a fortune, no
doubt."

Gilbert paused, slightly confused. He was ashamed to discover how
little he really knew about Martin. There was no remark from his
companion. She could not help noticing his evident embarrassment, and
the poverty of his knowledge regarding his old friend, and she was
drawing her own damaging conclusions. As the silence continued he
glanced at her half inquiringly. There was a look of distress in the
golden-brown depths of her eyes.

"Are you cold?" he asked, with hasty compunction. "I've been yarning
away and forgetting time and place. Go on, there, Speed! You are not
cold?"

"No, not at all, thank you." She answered absently. Her mind was busy
running over Arabella's story, and putting the two tales side by side.
So this was "the boy," who had been so generously treated and been so
selfish in return; the boy who had repaid Martin's generosity with
forgetfulness, and had helped to lengthen poor little Arabella's years
of waiting. Her anxiety for Arabella had been swept away. She was
telling herself that she should be relieved and thankful for that, but,
strange to say, her feelings were exactly the opposite.

When Gilbert helped her out at her own door she bade him a hurried
farewell, and ran up the